Page 111 of These Monstrous Deeds

“Good boy.”

Carter’s body practically hums with the praise. Maybe he can do this after all. It’s not so hard, if he stays focused. He just has to wait for questions, orders, or one of the cues. When he’s waiting, he needs to kneel a certain way. He can do that.

Carter can totally fucking do that.

Then sir says, “The last one is calledPresent,” and Carter doesn’t know if it’s the tone of sir’s voice when he says the last word, or if it’s just his common sense kicking in, but his heart sinks with the realization of what this position is going to be.

He’s proved right when sir places a hand on his back and pushes him forward until Carter’s forehead is to the floor. Carter holds his breath, hoping this is as bad as it gets even though he knows deep down it’s not. Nothing important is presented. Not yet.

Sir begins to move his body, treating Carter like a puppet. He puts Carter’s elbows to the floor on each side of his head, setting them wide, then brings Carter’s hands to cup the back of his neck, coaxing Carter’s fingers to intertwine once there. Carter squeezes his eyes shut as he feels sir’s hands move to his thighs, spreading them apart. Then the final movement, sir lifting his ass in the air, making it so anyone would be able to see Carter’s hole if they desired.

“This isPresent,” sir says in a rough voice. His hands linger on Carter’s hips for a moment longer before he quickly pulls them away as if he’s been burned. He clears his throat. Twice. “Rest.”

The transition is clumsy, but Carter manages to move back into theRestposition.

“You need practice.Present.”

Carter pushes forward. Still clumsy.

“Rest.”

Still clumsy.

“Present.”

“Rest.”

“Present.”

“Rest.”

“Present.”

Smooth. Almost instinctual now. Everything settles into place as it should, no adjustments needed, no regaining of his balance required.

“Good boy,” sir croons, running a hand along the curve of Carter’s back. It makes him feel like a show dog.

What’s worse is that he likes it.

Not the show dog part, obviously, but the part where sir pets him and praises him.

He doesn’t let himself feel guilty about it. He refuses.

And if he hears Casey’s voice echoing in his mind, if he sees Maison’s sneer every time he blinks, well… he just does his best to ignore them. They only exist in nightmares now. This is Carter’s real life. No one gets to judge him for how he survives it.

???

Carter is amazing with his new rules, only messing up once while he was alone with Nathan in his office. Nathan had asked him a question, something about lunch, and for just a moment, Carter had forgotten not to look at him when he answered. It was a single flicker of his eyes before he had remembered and quickly tucked his chin back to his chest, eyes on the ground. Nathan had pretended not to notice.

The only real issue they’re having today is one Nathan hadn’t expected; Carter isn’t eating. He only ate a few bites of fruit at breakfast, and at lunch he had told Nathan he wasn’t hungry. Now they were seated for dinner, Carter kneeling between his legs, and Carter was taking a long enough time to chew a single piece of chicken that Nathan was starting to wonder if maybe the boy had already swallowed and was merely pretending. He presses a cooked baby carrot to Carter’s lips, holding it there until the boy finally opens his mouth to take it. Then there’s more slow, prolonged chewing.

It doesn’t help that morale isn’t great at the dinner table tonight.

It’s Jason.

It’s always Jason, if Nathan is being honest. Jason is the only one in the organization to ever dare question Nathan. He will sometimes make faces when he thinks Nathan can’t see him, or he’ll comment under his breath when he thinks Nathan isn’t paying attention. The little shit has always been ever so slightly disobedient, challenging Nathan’s authority, but never enough for him to feel justified enough to do something about it.

Nathan can tell that today’s issue originated with Jason because his men keep looking in his direction, as if waiting to see if he’ll say something. Instead, the little prick just stays quiet as the men bicker amongst themselves.

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